


Iridescent

by sunspearing



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, ushioi2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-18 19:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5939860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunspearing/pseuds/sunspearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because together, they are.</p><p> </p><p><b>Day 1:</b> Heavy Lies The Crown (royalty)<br/><b>Day 2:</b> My (Our) Apartment (making up)<br/><b>Day 3:</b> Catnip (date)<br/><b>Day 4:</b> My Love Is Fire (mythology)<br/><b>Day 5:</b> My Hands (partners in crime)<br/><b>Day 6:</b> From the Top of the World (university)<br/><b>Day 7:</b> Baby, We're Perfect (secret dating celebrities)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. heavy lies the crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the most powerful cannot stand alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhm i might actually just use this week to exhaust my favourite tropes... arranged marriage royalty au.....................

In the advent of a new century, it seems that even the changing times has its effect on a country. Most especially with the type of government it works with. With the turn of the tide came different forms of ways to manage the people--communism, socialism, democracy, aristocracy, dictatorship--and it all eludes Tooru. His country has always looked to the royal family like they were gods put down on the Earth, and they had no qualms about the humble way they had managed their territory. His parents and grandparents alike had always told him how lucky their country was to have rulers that acted with kind hands and understanding eyes, and that they were honoured to be part of the nobility that interacted with the close circle the Ushijimas kept around them.

Tooru believed in the words of his family. After all, they were older than him, had lived under the kingdom’s rule longer than he’s been alive, and takes their stories for what they were: praises towards the royal family. That’s why it confuses him when news came out that the country’s autocracy would start shifting towards a constitutional monarchy, and gradually into a parliament that has no need for the stability and security offered by the royal name anymore.

And they started it with making sure the Ushijimas won’t produce an heir to the throne any further. That’s how Tooru found himself entering the picture.

The Ushijimas have been around for centuries, their family the longest-reigning in the line of royalties that have ever ascended the throne. The current royal family consists of the king, the queen and, the crowd favourite, crown prince Ushijima Wakatoshi. They are the people the nation has looked upon time and again during periods of peace, seeked for help and protection during events of discord, celebrated in the aftermath of a victory. If anything, their family is the property of the country, not the other way around.

 

His parents and the royal family, with the blessing of the parliament after due deliberation, had agreed to betrothe the youngest Oikawa to the crown prince. The country was in the process of changing to suit with the times, but here they were resorting to medieval methods such as arranging marriages. If Tooru thinks about it, marrying off the crown prince to another man indeed would not bear any heir, but it was scandalous all the same. It was as if they were tarnishing the name of the royal family from the get-go, starting with himself.

But he had taken it in stride, most definitely after seeing the crown prince Ushijima Wakatoshi simply nod his head upon receiving the news, like he hadn’t just been informed of something that would affect him directly, like it was just another obligation he had to fulfil as his duty to the country. Tooru had said yes, too, in his vexation and chagrin.

The wedding proceeded with much celebration and fanfare. It was, after all, the marriage of their beloved crown prince, and the Oikawa name wasn’t exactly to be undermined either. It would’ve seemed like a smart political move had the situation been different (had Tooru been a woman was also something that floated around in his mind more often than not). The event was met with happiness and criticism, even an undercurrent of discord, but at the end of the day Tooru still got the ring on his finger, his signature on their marriage contract, and the feel of Ushijima’s lips slotted with his.

 

They weren’t strangers with each other, and Tooru thinks Ushijima Wakatoshi isn’t so bad. Tooru had met with him several times during their childhood, when he was more boy than prince. Tooru remembers the times he managed to convince Ushijima to go out and play with him in the gardens instead of attending their classes, the moments where they both got to run around the maze of flowers sprawling the ground of the palace, catching beetles and watching butterflies flit around. Tooru even remembers the one occasion where Ushijima had gone out of the way of his military training to meet with Tooru and give him a tome about the science of the stars because it was his birthday.

The prince is prodigious, smart and well-versed in the area of both politics and economics, strong in the field of the military that he even has a cavalry of soldiers that follow his command, reliable, responsible and kind in all the ways that count for someone with the blood of Kings running in his veins, a true gentleman both in manner and virtue.

So it didn't come as a shock when Ushijima had gone back to his duties afterwards, working his way through their week-long honeymoon, exchanging small talk with Tooru in the occasions their paths crossed, the little moments in their bedroom as they get ready to sleep. Tooru feels more like an anchor than anything else, the weight that chains Ushijima to a life of fruitless matrimony for the supposed betterment of their nation.

He watches Ushijima work hard for his country day in and day out, attending court meetings and hearings, spending his afternoons in his designated office room in the palace to pore through paperwork. Sometimes Tooru wakes up when Ushijima gets up from their bed (they share a room to keep up with the premise of their marital status) before dawn. On those days Ushijima outrises the sun he goes to train with the country’s soldiers, watching over them and sharing his input as an army man with a rank, and not as a crown prince.

Sometimes Tooru forgets that Ushijima also has a title in the military, much like how he forgets they are actually married. He married a man raised by the current king and all the other kings before him, and the royalty is so deeply imbued in his person it is hard to distinguish Ushijima the Prince from Wakatoshi the Man.

 

But despite everything, Tooru finds himself developing affections for Wakatoshi, him and his damn dedication to the parliament that’s trying to be rid of him, his principles that confine him to serve the people that are slowly starting to have no need for him anymore, his pledge to keep the nation’s borders safe as a military man, and his duty to the royal family and serve as the embodiment of the traditions and ceremonies of the country. He has seen Wakatoshi work himself thin for what he believes in, for what he has been raised to do.

Tooru works to be someone worthy of being Wakatoshi’s significant other, to be enough to stand by his side. He knows Ushijima acknowledges him and his efforts, making a point to compliment and praise his husband whenever he helps him out, even in the smallest ways. Tooru was never fond of politicking, but he can’t ignore that he had the smarts for it, and had the circumstances been different he would’ve made the perfect ally in the office, him and Wakatoshi working side by side.

The time they spend with each other, in the little window periods they’re in each other’s company, has brought them closer. Making a point to eat their meals together no matter how busy they are, spending their afternoons in the parlour drinking tea while quietly reading their respective choices of literature, standing out in the sun in the training field, learning how to wield a sword and draw a bow straight from one of the best. Even accompanying Tooru during his state visits to the orphanage, teaching the kids and humouring them with games. They're just several of the things, tiny bits of affection and drops of happiness that Tooru collects to piece into the Ushijima Wakatoshi only he knows.

Sleeping in one bed, waking up nestled so close to each other’s hearts, could do that.

 

However, when morning comes it’s still the country and it’s the people Ushijima wakes up for, working himself out of Tooru’s warmth to go right back to his throne room, slipping on his duties so intimately bound to him like it’s his second skin.

Tooru sometimes wonders what or who Wakatoshi does all of this for, if it were for his family, or the country, or for himself. He also wonders just how long Wakatoshi would be able to keep this up for.

 

 

He gets his answer one day, a few weeks before their first wedding anniversary.

Tooru is reading a book, lying in their bed when the door opens. Ushijima walks in shrugging off his coat, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. He looks especially tired, eyes dark and unfocused as he stops by the edge of the bed. Tooru looks up from his book just as Ushijima kneels on the mattress.

Next thing Tooru knows Wakatoshi’s head is resting on his belly, his usually strong arms softly winding around his thighs, rough fingers pressing into the flesh of Tooru’s legs. Wakatoshi turns his face into the fabric of Tooru’s sleeping shirt, breathing deeply and slowly. He’s heavy and warm against Tooru’s body, their legs tangled around each other that if Tooru weren’t wearing shorts or Wakatoshi had taken off his slacks, he wouldn’t have known whose limbs were whose.

Book placed on the nightstand and forgotten, Tooru places a hand on top of Wakatoshi’s head tentatively. His fingertips touch Wakatoshi’s scalp lightly as he runs his fingers through his hair, and Wakatoshi’s grip around his legs tighten but not enough for it to be uncomfortable. He takes it as a sign to continue his ministrations.

“May I stay like this for a while?”

Wakatoshi’s voice is quiet, wavering almost, as if if there had been the slightest draft in their bedroom Wakatoshi’s question might have gotten blown away by it. It’s unlike the voice he uses to address a room filled with the most politically powerful people in the country, unlike the tone he makes when talking to his people during public announcements and events, unlike the commands he give his soldiers during drills and exercises under the scorching sun, unlike that of the Crown Prince.

Right now, what Tooru has on his lap and in his arms is just Ushijima Wakatoshi, the man who has dedicated his body and soul to uphold the principles, laws, and beliefs of his country. He is a man who continues to carry the weight of his responsibility and the expectations of his people. He is just that. He is just a man.

Tooru understands. He embraces Wakatoshi’s head tighter to his person, curving his body around him as if he could protect him like this, pressing him closer to his heart like he could keep him there, even just for a while.

Maybe like this, he can ease the heaviness of the crown Wakatoshi bears.

“Stay for as long as you like.”


	2. My (Our) Apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa learns that, sometimes, actions do speak louder than words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> garfunkel and oates' 'my apartment's very clean without you' is totally ushioi

“You know,” Oikawa sighs, pressing his phone closer to his ear so he can hear the breathing on the other line, even though he can hear it just fine without it, “my apartment is so clean without you.” He moves to tuck his legs close to his chest, resting his forehead on his knees when he hears faint, pained chuckling coming from behind him and his phone.

“It must be, yeah?” Oikawa hears that familiar voice permeating from the wood of the front door he’s leaning against first, and it almost sounds raw if it weren’t mixed with the static coming from his phone, the same words repeating a few milliseconds too late like a resounding echo. “Are you glad I left?” There’s slight bitterness in his tone, and Oikawa can imagine him rubbing a hand over his face from behind the door, the slight rustling he’s picking up from his phone confirming it.

Oikawa picks at the material of his sweatpants, fingers tapping at the hard case of his phone. “I--maybe. Maybe not.” Oikawa sighs, and the person on the other line follows it up with his own. “I don’t know, Ushiwaka-chan.”

“Don’t call me that, Oikawa.” Strained laughter comes from both of them.

Then, there’s a deafening silence that falls between them, hanging over their heads like heavy clouds. Oikawa feels the need to scream, but before he could, Ushijima interrupts him. “You love making lists, right?”

“Lists?” Oikawa is confused, and just the right bit surprised because none of his friends know about his affinity for making lists. He never told Ushijima either. But then, they both never told each other trivial things about themselves because they were too busy either making love or, as the last few moments before the end of their relationship, fighting. “Lists, yes, I do.”

“Why don’t you list the reasons why you’re glad I left?” Ushijima asks, his voice a bit quaky, but then again it might just be the phone connection. “Other than the apartment being very clean, what are the other reasons that make you happy I left?”

Oikawa sits against the front door and thinks. Does he have any more reasons to be glad he and Ushijima had broken their relationship off and the other has left? He looks out into the hallways and towards th--his living room, the shelves and surfaces pristine and carpet newly vacuumed.

“Well, your underwear isn't on my floor now,” Oikawa chuckles, remembering the numerous times they’ve undressed each other from the front hallway until they’re naked the moment they step into the open space. “And I can finally marathon my favourite dramas without having to wrestle for the remote and end up listening to the sound of sports from the games Ushiwaka-chan insists on watching.”

Ushijima doesn’t say anything on the other line. It’s understandable too, because he’s never really been one for words. He always said that Oikawa talks enough for the both of them, and that he wasn’t really good at expressing himself anyways. He knows he’s too blunt and brutally honest, but that’s because his personality and his lifestyle made him that way. But that didn’t stop Oikawa from wishing that maybe they should have talked more and fucked less.

“I’ve also got an extra key to my door now,” Oikawa continues, “I’d probably mail it to my mum or Iwa-chan for when they want to visit.” Oikawa deliberated keeping the key for when he finally moves on and decides on venturing into another relationship, but remembering the look on Ushijima’s face when he gave him the extra set for his perusal kept him from doing so.

“I can also stay up as long as I want now.” Oikawa presses the phone closer to his ear, his fingers tightening their grip on his knees and the plastic case of his handheld. “And I can sleep peacefully without getting woken up by Ushiwaka-chan’s loud snores, or his early morning alarm, and--”

Oikawa feels his throat close up, like his emotions are all trying to escape from his chest all at once and they’re blocking his airways, crushing him with the pressure. He can’t even lift his head up or open his eyes because everywhere he looks in his damn flat he can remember Ushijima, can see where he’s been and what he’s touched.

The hallway where Ushijima waited for counting on five minutes until Oikawa noticed and invited him to come in, the couch that was witness to the times they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves, the kitchen where they spent so many mornings making breakfast for each other, making out with each other, Ushijima lifting him up and onto the countertop so he can sample Oikawa’s soft mouth better. And that’s just the open space of the living area.

“The bed feels way too big without you,” Oikawa whispers out, finding his voice. “The flat’s way too clean without you. There’s no more weights I have to move around in the living room so I won’t trip on them, no more protein shakes in my fridge that I keep mistaking for chocolate milk, and there’s just one of everything it’s setting me off.”

He hears Ushijima release a shaky breath from behind him, from his phone’s speaker, from all around him and Oikawa _aches_.

“Your toothbrush isn’t on my cup anymore, and I found myself grabbing a bottle of your stupid shampoo when I last went to the grocery because we always _always_ take one after we find mine.” There’s rustling behind him, and Oikawa hears a knock on the hardwood of his front door behind him, echoed by the static rattling from his phone. “I have an entire half of my wardrobe empty an--do you want to know what makes me sad, Ushiwaka-chan?”

There was one last knock on the door before there was a thump. Oikawa imagines Ushijima and the sight he must make: standing outside with his forehead pressed to the door. With his height and build he could probably force his way in already. His neighbours must be surprised to see him back there, waiting outside, especially after everyone on the entire floor heard their last row, Oikawa shouting until he all but dissolved into sobs. Even then Ushijima let Oikawa take care of the talking, of the shouting, of the verbal agreement that they break it off.

Ushijima hadn’t been the one to walk out on him. Oikawa had pushed him out the door and slammed it in his face. Oikawa uses his words, and Ushijima uses his actions. After having time spent to think about it, Ushijima had told him he didn’t want it to be over, after all. Oikawa taking his silence as an affirmative to break up was wrong, but they are here still.

“What is it, Oikawa?” Ushijima asks, and his voice is such a reprieve Oikawa finds himself finally _finally_ able to breathe. “Please talk to me.”

Oikawa stands up from his crouched position, turning around to place his free hand on the doorknob. “You left your favourite pair of socks, and it looks so lonely in the space of your empty drawer. I feel so _empty._ ”

“Oikawa, please open the door. Let’s talk about this,” Ushijima says, and Oikawa feels like he’s never been closer, even with the door and a million things unsaid between them. But it’s the first step, Ushijima the one initiating the dialogue.

Oikawa takes a deep breath, hand turning the doorknob before pushing the door open. Sliver by sliver he sees Ushijima standing in front of him, hand still propping his phone to his ear, looking at Oikawa earnestly, ardently. Oikawa can tell he’s struggling to find the words to say, to start.

So he takes the next step, reaching for Ushijima’s free hand with his hesitantly, featherlight, and pulling him in.

If Ushijima is trying to speak with his words, then Oikawa will try to feel with his actions.


	3. Catnip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa can probably postpone his dreams of having a sustainable garden if it means meeting his handsome veterinarian neighbour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how indulgent.. vet au for [zerojima](http://twitter.com/zerojima/)!

Running a flower shop has its ups and downs, Oikawa thinks he’s pretty well-versed in it after being in the business for almost half a decade now. But he’s never faced a problem of this scale.

“Why does this keep happening?!” Oikawa whines to no one in particular. His sun hat feels unbearably hot on his scalp, an unwanted headache pricking from between his eyes. It’s six in the morning and he’s standing in front of his flower bed, or what remains of it, at least. The earth is all dug up and mangled, and his flowers are pressed on the soil, trampled on and wilted. They were his prized petunias he was growing for Iwa-chan’s mother’s birthday, and now they were all destroyed.

Granted, Oikawa has a main garden far away from the city where he gets his stocks for the flower shop, but his gardens in his front lawn and backyard were his baby projects, his step closer to being the next barefoot contessa or something of the sort. Now his basils are destroyed and his tomatoes almost entirely squished. There goes his plans to invite his friends over to eat his homegrown pesto.

With a deep, resigned sigh, Oikawa stoops down and dons his gardening gloves. He starts with digging up the ruined plants, shaking out the loose soil from the roots. He diligently sets the dead plants aside to put in his compost bin later. He makes a damage assessment and deems some of the remaining petunias alright, if a little droopy, but they're beautiful still.

Oikawa is in the middle of pulling out the creeping vines of his destroyed gourds when he hears the door of his neighbour’s house opens. He looks up and sees two big German Shepherd canines walk out of the doorway, elegantly postured and leashed onto the belt their owner is wearing around his waist.

Oikawa hasn't really gotten a good look of his neighbour before, but now he's getting an eyeful. And it's a really nice view. _Really very nice._

His neighbour is tall, tanned and handsome, standing under the sun and stretching in his front lawn. He looks built, his pectorals and biceps bulging from the confines of his sleeveless workout hoodie, the fabric stretched out all around his torso. Oikawa almost finds himself sighing at the sight.

His neighbour looks about ready to embark on his morning run with his dogs, which is aptly normal considering the time. And then, all of a sudden, the heads of two kittens emerge from the pack strapped to the man’s body. Oikawa’s eyes widen when he sees another emerging from the pocket of the bag as well.

That's not normal at all.

Oikawa is still in a state of shock that he doesn't even react when the cats struggle and jump out of his neighbour’s pack, landing on their paws before prowling away from their owner. The cats stalk across Oikawa’s neighbour’s lawn, effortlessly squeezing their way through the gaps of the white picket fence separating Oikawa’s property from his neighbour’s.

And then, and then, the cats jump for his petunias. Oikawa rips out his entire gourd vine in surprise, shrieking at the top of his lungs before leaping to save the remainder of his flowers.

At least now he knows who the culprits of his garden massacre are.

 

 

His neighbour’s name is Ushijima Wakatoshi. He’s 26 years-old, a head veterinarian at the local pet clinic, specialises in handling exotic species of vertebrates, and is in the prime of his life. He also likes to take in stray animals and nurse them back to health before surrendering them to a shelter, or given them up for adoption among his circle of friends.

The hurricanes of tabby fur and feline claws were but three out of a litter of six kittens, the other three too malnourished and sickly by the time Ushijima had found them abandoned and crying in an alley. They had died soon after Ushijima had cleaned them up, but the other three seemed to have made it a point to live for their deceased siblings, hence their neverending energy.

Oikawa knows all this because Ushijima had raced after the furballs and jumped over his fence to grab at his kittens. He didn't take into account the fact that he had his two Pedigrees attached to him, though, and they all ended up sprawled into a heap on Oikawa’s flower bed. His petunias, surprisingly and thankfully, stayed resilient.

“I really am very sorry for my animals,” Ushijima had apologised, juggling three tiny kittens in his huge hands while angling his body to the side to keep his dogs at bay. After recounting the story of his foster pets and sharing few bits of his life with Oikawa in a mutual conversation, Ushijima had looked right about ready to go back to his original intention of running. He doesn’t look much like a social person, Oikawa concludes. “The kittens have yet to leave my care, and I had no idea this is where they go to when I let them out for a while.”

His voice is low and soothing though, the drawl in the way he speaks making Oikawa’s heart do little constrictions. He chuckles it off as early morning heartburn. “Ah, it's alright. I was planning on redoing my garden, anyways. It might also be the insect repellent I use, too. Spraying catnip all over my plants probably attracted those furballs the moment you open your door.”

“Ah, that may be the case. We’re still sorry for the bother. I’ll make it up to you somehow, one of these days.”

It's too late for a morning run now, Oikawa thinks, but the guy still bows and builds up a light jog as he exits the gate of Oikawa’s property, and just before he's gone from Oikawa’s vantage point Ushijima calls, “It was a wonderful garden you had, Oikawa!”

With that compliment Oikawa found the motivation to power through cleaning up his garden, prepping it with newly aerated soil mixed with his homemade compost. After taking a break to eat brunch, time during which he heard Ushijima return to his house with his barking dogs and mewling cats, Oikawa takes out his chest filled with variations of plant seeds, and gets right back to work.

 

 

Ushijima’s _one of these days_ comes on a Wednesday morning, just as Oikawa is locking up his front door. The single surviving petunia is basking under the sun on his steadily recovering flower bed, the soil tilled and planted with seeds patiently germinating under the earth. He’s pocketing his house keys and checking the time on his watch when he hears someone call his name.

“Oikawa!” Ushijima is walking towards the picket fence separating them, and he looks handsome in his maroon button down tucked into black slacks that make his legs look _divine_ it almost pains Oikawa to have to look at him. He might actually start considering getting a pet if it means having this man as his vet.

“Good morning, Ushiwaka-chan!” Oikawa chirps, waving a hand at his neighbour. He watches Ushijima’s face crumple up in confusion upon hearing the unwanted nickname, and he’s so goddamn handsome Oikawa finds himself grinning wider. “On your way to work?”

“Ah, yes. But before I leave I wanted to give you something.” Oikawa watches as Ushijima bends down, and he almost wishes Ushijima was facing the other way around so he can see the view of his pants tightening around his ass, but the sight of the button down stretching taut over the expanse of Ushijima’s broad shoulders and tapered torso is reward enough.

Ushijima straightens up, and in his hands he carries three potted plants, one of a bunch of sunflowers, the other a tiny shrub of tomatoes flowering yellow and pretty, and a few stalks of petunias. He holds them over the picket fence, offering them for Oikawa to take. “These are for you.”

Oikawa almost hates his body for being unable to fight down a blush. He takes the pot of brilliant petunias, and hides his face behind its foliage. “I’m a florist, Ushiwaka-chan, in case you forgot. Why are you giving me flowers when I sell them?” Ushijima has the decency to turn pink. Oikawa smiles against the soft petals pressing near his face. “But these are really beautiful, thank you.”

“I did promise I will make it up to you,” Ushijima reminds him. Oikawa places the petunias down so he can reach for the two other potted plants from his neighbour. He’s rubbing at the bright yellow petals of the tomato plant when he looks at Ushijima from over his shoulder. He gives the vet a coy smile.

“You know, when people say they’ll make it up to someone, it’s usually by treating them out for breakfast or taking them out on a date,” Oikawa informs Ushijima, ignoring the way his ears are burning from how hopeful he is while flirting with his handsome neighbour.

Ushijima’s face is stoic, but the faint flush on his face is undeniable. Oikawa sends a quiet thank-you for the basic functions of the human body. Ushijima covers his mouth with a fist and clears his throat. Oikawa hopes Ushijima’s doing that because he’s fighting down a smile.

“Well then,” Ushijima says, taking a step closer to Oikawa, “would you want to go have breakfast with me before going to work? I can even drive you to your shop, if you want.”

Oikawa hugs the potted plants to his chest, and his answering smile is almost as bright as the sunflowers he’s holding. “It’s a date.”


	4. My Love Is Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa just wants a mad, all-consuming love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no excuses......

Oikawa spends his time idle in his room, fingers tracing over the numerous trinkets he’s collected from his brothers and sisters, little tokens of which signify their different perceptions of beauty. Oikawa lifts up two cuffs made from gleaming gold, the metal curved intricately into patterns that wind continuously. He puts them on, the minute spaces between the loops of the bracelet pressing stark contrasts against his white skin. Holding his arms up against the light streaming through his room, he admires the craftsmanship and the effort invested in producing the piece of jewellery. They adorn his arms from the slims of his wrists to below the insides of his elbow, the thin stretch of skin like slices of pale moonlight. This gift isn’t something from his siblings, though, but they’re just as stunning. It's something which is offered to those of the status of Gods, offerings of devotion and worship.

He’s preoccupied with gazing at his cuffs and rings, letting himself indulge in his vanity, when he hears the rustle of his curtains. The air in the room flickers, like it’s been warped. Oikawa smells Ushijima’s presence before he actually sees him. Gone is the fragrance of sticky sweet flower nectar and vanilla, only to be replaced by the scorching smell of smoke, gunpowder, and beneath it the metal scent of blood.

Oikawa closes his eyes when he feels Ushijima, hard wrought armour pressing against his body from his shoulders to the entire length of his torso. The other man’s gloved hands settle on the curve of Oikawa’s waist, and Oikawa can feel the rough texture of the leather through his silk tunic.

“You’re wearing my gift.” Lips press the words on the skin of Oikawa’s neck, and it’s hot, feeling more like a poker branding itself onto his flesh than a kiss. Oikawa tilts his head to the side, offering more.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” Oikawa says after a while, leaning his head into the side of Ushijima’s, temple to temple.

Ushijima grunts, his fingers tightening their grip on Oikawa’s body. “It doesn’t matter.”

Oikawa smiles. He turns around in Ushijima’s arms, and looks over his armour, the shine of it, the power imbued in the enchanted metal of the House of War.

“So, you will do it?” Oikawa asks, voice barely above a whisper as he looks up at Ushijima. His hands find Ushijima’s, fingers pressing against tough leather. Ushijima nods curtly, tall and strong and sure. Oikawa feels a tightening somewhere inside him. “Why?”

Ushijima moves closer, and he looks into Oikawa’s eyes, the fire in them so unmistakable, bright and consuming. He untangles a hand from Oikawa’s grip and brings it up, pressing his thumb down on Oikawa’s chin, making his rosy lips part. He listens to Oikawa release a quiet breath. “Because you are my Muse.”

There were days where Oikawa felt like he was born in the wrong house.

Sure he admits that he is beautiful, almost sinfully to a fault, but amongst his sisters and brothers that reside in the House of Love and Beauty, the children of Aphrodite, he was the only one left that hadn’t found their own type of love and beauty to behold. His siblings had all found their own niche, governing and specialising on the beauty of sciences, love of art, appreciation for the aesthetic. They kept chalking up Oikawa’s fickleness to his being young, the youngest of their clan, but Oikawa thinks it's just general disinterest.

Oikawa’s almost convinced he shouldn't have been in this House, that the Gods had put him down onto this world by mistake. He had done his best to perform his duties, to carry on his responsibility of restoring, maintaining, and propagating love and beauty. He even went out of his way to explore with those from different houses, trying to find something in their profession that would spark his most wanted type of love, most yearned aspect of beauty, to become someone’s Muse.

And here Ushijima is. Ushijima is war--bloodthirsty, terrifying and glorious. Everything he touches seems to light on fire, and he smells so much of conflict and destruction. He’s doused in blood of men and fallen soldiers that his fingers are tainted with their crimson. War clings to him like a second skin, like it comes with the armour he wears when he’s on the battlefield, ploughing through battalions like he’s reaping for the spoils of war in the bodies of every man he fells.

It’s the same armour Oikawa is trying to unbuckle right now, prying the chest plate off of Ushijima’s body with nimble fingers. They undress with hurried motions, Ushijima nearly ripping off Oikawa’s tunic in his haste, all while kissing Oikawa’s open mouth like he’s willingly swallowing the poison of the other’s moans. The bed is close, but the settee in front of the veranda is closer, and Ushijima leads them there, pressing Oikawa into the cushions with fervour.

Ushijima’s hands roam everywhere, tracking fire trails all over his skin with every touch he maps, and Oikawa fights for his kisses, searching for Ushijima’s mouth to take. He’s taken off his gloves, and his hands are rough and have killed legions of men and brought cities to their knees, but they are reverent in their journey, holding Oikawa in places where he never imagined to be touched. Oikawa can feel Ushijima’s lust for conquest, coveting for control, and Oikawa feels himself _burn_ for it, with it--wants Ushijima to swallow him whole.

This. This is the kind of love Oikawa wants. He wants it all-consuming and destructive like war, dedicated and loyal like a soldier’s oath to protect his country, fiery and blinding like a pillage.

Oikawa remembers going with Iwaizumi once, on a ride on his chariot. His friend had decided to help him out with his quest of finding his purpose in his House, and allowed him to go with his duties. Oikawa was awestruck, speechless as he watched Iwaizumi pull morning over the night sky, his golden chariot bringing with it the dawn that waters up the heavens in soft pinks and yellows. Later in the afternoon, Iwaizumi had turned his chariot, this time dragging back the night time over the bright sky like a blanket.

Oikawa remembers how breathtaking the sunset looked, like the sky was set on fire, the sun burning low into the sea. There was something about the way the light bled red across the horizon that enraptured him, that called out to him.

Ushijima has a chariot, too. It’s actually how Oikawa first met him, when Oikawa was returning from a trip with his sisters. They had been passing by a village when they heard the shouting, the sounds of metal hitting metal, the earth-shaking booming of firearms. There was a war going on between two factions, men throwing spears and arrows and swords at each other.

Oikawa remembers thinking the way the steel of the weapons shone in the afternoon sun was much more appealing than that of the jewellery he donned, and he watched, enraptured with the way blood rained down on the Earth like rain, soaking the soil with war.

And then, Ushijima came. His chariot was ablaze in the scorching sunlight, like the metal was forged molten and never cooled since. He had sliced a path for himself through the battlefield, taking lives in one fell swoop like they were ragdolls. Ushijima had ended the fighting as soon as he came in, and he was golden under the sun, gleaming with sweat and drenched in blood of the fallen.

Through Ushijima Oikawa had realised what he wanted, what he wanted his legacy to be. And he wanted it to be this--the love in war, the beauty in destruction. He understood now why Icarus wanted to fly close to the sun, why Persephone had eaten those pomegranate seeds to be in the underworld, why a thousand ships had launched just for Helen, why humankind keeps delving into war and out of it and in conflict again like they don’t know any better.

When Ushijima sinks into him cannons start sounding in the distance. His nails form red, crescent moons on Ushijima’s back and they move together, Ushijima taking all and taking deep, gathering Oikawa and crushing him to his chest, licking into his open mouth. It feels a lot like Ushijima is trying to consume him, take over him, conquer him, and Oikawa lets--by the Gods, he _lets_ \--him, pushing his fingers through Ushijima’s hair and holding his head to where his heart, gasping as Ushijima marks him with his touch, with his teeth, with his grip.

Shafts of red-tinged light filter through the run and paint them orange, and from below Ushijima looks like he’s ablaze, like a God. He breathes against Oikawa’s lips, pressing their foreheads together, “Tell me what you want, my Muse. I shall give it to you.”

Oikawa feels golden with the way Ushijima looks at him, and Ushijima watches as Oikawa’s bright eyes catch fire, burning with a need that screamed for blood and war it sends his heart raising and his arousal building. He pushes up, hitching Oikawa on his lap and letting the other work himself, body undulating against him, hips grinding hard Ushijima can feel Oikawa’s pelvic bone against his skin.

“I want you,” Oikawa gasps, his mouth brushing against Ushijima’s with every syllable, with every thrust, “to set this fucking house on fire.”

“Gods, Oikawa,” Ushijima groans, and he sounds strained, like he’s grounding himself, and Oikawa takes it as a victory all the same, that his love and his beauty had in its clutches a man of so much power and ability that even the Gods have cowered in his wake. Oikawa shivers against the solid feel of Ushijima’s person, quaking with pleasure as he gets pulled in close, so close it feels like Ushijima’s imprinting the feel of his body in him, against him, all around him. So Oikawa won't forget. “I’ll burn down the whole world for you if you want me to.”

Oikawa knows Ushijima means it, can hear it in the low and raw of his voice. How he is willing to wage wars and challenge the Gods for Oikawa.

And after, Oikawa finds out just how dedicated Ushijima is.


	5. My Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ushijima has a magic touch with great repercussions, but Oikawa seems like a good enough reason to take a risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so late! but pushing daisies au...

Ushijima watches the face of Oikawa, the calm serenity in the set of his cheeks, the slight upturn of the corners of his pink mouth. His hair is still impeccable like this, curling against his forehead and sprawled over the white cushion like a shining brown halo. He’s beautiful.

Ushijima is nervous as he eyes Oikawa, his gaze shifting from the other man’s face, his watch, and the door separating them and the outside of the funeral home. He looks back at Oikawa, laying peaceful and quiet in his casket. It’s been years since they last saw each other, and in all of the times Ushijima let himself imagine how their next encounter would be, it was never like this.

Pressing the timer button on his watch, Ushijima steps closer. He reaches a hand above Oikawa’s face, hovering tentatively. Taking a deep breath, Ushijima presses a finger to the dainty upturn of Oikawa’s beautiful nose.

Oikawa’s face shimmers with colour as Ushijima watches him take a deep breath. Oikawa’s face flush with life, his eyes starting to flutter before slowly opening. Ushijima watches as Oikawa blinks several times, probably to get his bearings. Then, he averts his eyes up, meeting Ushijima’s. Oikawa gasps.

Then, Ushijima finds his head colliding with the lifted hinge of the casket, Oikawa having tugged his loose tie, making him slam into the anterior door. Ushijima is reeling as he takes steps back, and he hears some clamouring. By the time the pain is bearable and he opens his eyes, Oikawa is already standing up and out of the casket, holding a poker and brandishing it like a weapon.

“What--what joke are you trying to pull with me, Ushiwaka-chan?” Oikawa asks, and his voice is the same, the lilt and tone like how it was all those years ago. Ushijima’s chest tightens in his chest. “Why was I in that coffin? Did Mattsun and Makki pull you into this? It’s not a good joke.”

“Oikawa,” Ushijima tries, his voice faint. He’s done this before: bringing dead people back to life to find out who killed them, then giving the information to Tendou, his investigator friend. But he’s never been faced with the decision of resurrecting someone he knows personally. It’s happened twice way before he knew the repercussions of the power of his touch, and now that he knows just exactly what he’s capable of, he doesn’t want to bear with the weight of the possible consequences of his actions.

Touch a dead thing once, they come alive. Touch them again, they go back to being dead, forever. Touch a dead thing once, they come alive. If they are allowed to live for more than a minute, and not a second more, another thing with equal life force would die in their stead. It took years of observation, experimentation, and trial and error to figure out these things, to help Ushijima cope with the grief his touch brings.

But seeing Oikawa, breathtaking and beautiful and _alive_ , he double thinks the nature of his side work.

“I want to go home, Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa says, slowly bringing down the poker he’s holding.

“You can’t,” Ushijima protests, finally finding his voice. Holding his composure, he stands up properly. “Oikawa, I don’t know how else to tell you this but you’re dead.”

Oikawa freezes, staring at Ushijima incredulously. “You’re not funny, Ushiwaka-chan, have your friends ever told you that?”

“I am not joking, Oikawa.” Ushijima frowns. He’s already wasted enough seconds as it is. “What is the last thing you remember? The news said that they found your body-- _you_ in the sea. You were in a boat?”

“I, well,” Oikawa starts, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. His mouth purses into a pout. “I won a ticket to a cruise. Actually it’s from my mum’s friend, and my mum just gave it to me. It was all-expense paid, too, and all I had to do was bring two golden monkeys with me. I wanted Iwa-chan to come with but--”

“Wait, so a cruise?” Ushijima asks, trying to make Oikawa get to the point. “How did you fall into the water?”

“Why are you in such a hurry, Ushiwaka-chan?” Oikawa asks, a bit annoyed at getting interrupted. _Because I only have a minute with you,_ Ushijima wants to answer, but Oikawa starts talking again. “I was out getting ice for my soda but I dropped my room keys in the ice box, so I was reaching in. When I finally got it and about to close the lid, some person sidled up next to me. Next thing I knew a bag was over my head and… I couldn’t breathe...”

Ushijima watches as Oikawa’s face falls and he frowns. Sadness does not suit Oikawa’s bright face, but he is beautiful all the same.

“I really died, didn’t I?” Oikawa slumps against the white casket he was in. “This is a really pretty suit, too.”

“I--I’m sorry this happened, Oikawa,” Ushijima offers. He can hear the insistent ticking of the timer of his watch. “I will do my best to find whoever killed you.”

“Are you a detective now, Ushiwaka-chan?” Oikawa asks curiously, a tiny smile on his face.

“Something like that.” He hears a bit of a commotion coming from beyond the door, and Ushijima gets back to the matter at hand. “Our time is over, Oikawa. You must go back in the casket.”

Oikawa looks inside the casket, the white of the cushions and the pillow where his head rested a little over a minute ago. “Can I ask for something first?”

“Anything,” Ushijima finds himself answering immediately. He would always do anything for Oikawa.

“Would you kiss me?” Oikawa laughs lightly, the sound of it breezing through Ushijima and rattling him like he was hollow--it was that haunting. Even like this, he’s beautiful. “I don’t really want to die without even getting my first kiss. And even if the choice is Ushiwaka-chan, I wouldn’t mind.”

Ushijima watches Oikawa climb into the casket, laying down on it and finding a comfortable spot to lay in, possibly forever. He smiles up at Ushijima. “Please, Ushiwaka-chan? You can take it as my thank you for working on my case, also.”

Ushijima leans over Oikawa, nodding jerkily. He watches as Oikawa closes his eyes, the purple of the skin of his eyelids shining. Their lips are close, and Ushijima can feel the warm of Oikawa, the flush of his face and the breath of his lips.

“I--” Ushijima murmurs, “I’m not going to turn you back.”

“What?” Oikawa whispers, opening his eyes slowly into Ushijima’s gaze.

“I want you to keep quiet, ok? I’m going to close this casket but I’ll come back after you.” Ushijima takes a glance back at the door. His watch beeps, signalling he’s down to five seconds. He could still touch Oikawa, not risk the possible disastrous effects of his chosen actions. But he doesn’t think of that. All he thinks about is how he would possibly save Oikawa later on.

“Is that a promise, Ushiwaka-chan?”

“Yes. And please don’t call me that.” Ushijima takes one long glance at Oikawa’s laughing face. This may just be worth it.

Ushijima exits the room and gives Tendou the information he got from Oikawa.

He does not tell Tendou about how he kept Oikawa awake, and how somewhere, in this funeral home, someone must have died to let Oikawa live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like with every day that passes my work gets worse...... oh well


	6. From the Top of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eleven reasons how they ended up there, on the top of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um.. parts of [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4355288) and [this](http://discernings.tumblr.com/post/136387032438/from-the-top-of-the-world)

**iv. silliness**

While their Calculus professor drones on and on about second order derivatives and solving several sample problems, Oikawa takes a break from listening and copying down notes to look over at his seatmate.

Ushijima is highlighting at his open textbook, and Oikawa reads a section in all caps and bolded, **THE MATERIALS OF THE COSMOS**. Oikawa gives up on trying to understand the solution on the whiteboard up front, and sidles up closer to Ushijima.

“Ushiwaka-chan, do you study about space?” Oikawa asks. He and Ushijima share only this Calculus class, and aside from knowing the other man shares a comparative vertebrate anatomy course and swimming as Kuroo, Oikawa’s flatmate, he doesn’t really know what Ushijima is majoring in. The subject has never come up during their breaks in volleyball practice, nor the small moments he finds himself in Ushijima’s company. “Like the planets and the moon and shooting stars?” Oikawa wants to ask about aliens, but he doesn’t want to give Ushijima any reason to think him weird. Ushijima is the only weird one between the both of them.

“Meteors?” Ushijima caps his highlighter and looks at Oikawa. “Well yes, in my geology class, I guess.”

Oikawa’s eyes shine in interest. “So you study the moon cycle, too? You know, when there’s a full moon I can’t sleep. I think it’s because the moon calls out to me, you know,” Oikawa rests his chin on his propped hand, “like with water. Maybe I’m part-water nymph, or fairy--”

“But you’ve only recently started to learn how to swim,” Ushijima points out.

Oikawa remembers that pathetic day, taking up Kuroo's offer of coming with him because he had the gall to insinuate that Oikawa is afraid of water (and Oikawa just can't have that), almost drowning in the university pool and having to be rescued by Ushijima (who turns out to be just as talented in swimming as he is in volleyball, what the fuck).

“Don’t ruin my dreams, Ushiwaka-chan.” Oikawa pouts as he watches Ushijima chuckle beside him quietly.

“Ah, I’m sorry then.” Ushijima smiles softly before going back to his book.

“Fine,” Oikawa huffs, puffing his cheeks to hide his blush. “But you’ll have to make it up to me. You have to teach me all you know about space.”

“But there really isn’t much I lear--”

“And teach me this lesson about second derivatives because you distracted me from listening to our lecture.”

Ushijima’s lips thin. “But you--”

“Four PM at the library, Ushiwaka-chan.” Oikawa turns his gaze back to the lecture, hoping Ushijima doesn’t notice how red his face is. “Then you can take me out to dinner and tell me all there is to know about the cosmos.”

From the corner of his eye Oikawa sees Ushijima smile. Oikawa tries to pretend he doesn’t feel like grinning too.


	7. Baby, We're Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa's change in career path doesn't make having a relationship with Ushijima any easier, but that doesn't mean he isn't up for the challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> secret dating celebrities au for [zerojima](http://twitter.com/zerojima)! warning: very incredibly self-indulgent; cameos of people glossed over but feel free to guess who they are; otp is perfect aren't they //clutches chest

story is posted separately because the length got too long, so please refer here!

([If he’s going to be falling in love with someone and keeping their relationship under layers of thick, mediaproof wraps, it might as well be with the best. And Ushiwaka-chan is nothing but the Absolute Best.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6002602))


End file.
